The Dead Man Called Our
by dark-matter-baby
Summary: The American Revolution has failed, and would-be founding fathers and their accomplice are to be hanged for their crimes against the King's rule. Hamilton must escape along with Lafayette and Hercules Mullingan, but can he leave his lover, George Washington, behind to die?


'Im just a boy, I died there long ago, I carry on as my mind flowers but my words being to slow, to create a sense to these passions, violence, and suffering of men, the terrified child must rise up again.'

Mud had caked Hamilton's shoes entirely hours ago, but with each huff, the orphan was more and more exsasperated with his and his companions' circumstance.

Lafayette's stride was uneven at the planting of each step, making him look like a wobbly fool, but he was going faster than any of them at this point- Mulligan, ready to collapse next to Hamilton.

The Virginian terrain had served the men swamps to leave them as feasts to insects and long stretches of land to become utterly lost within.

Lafayette seemed to have a slight optimism about him still. Perhaps he could somehow tell of their whereabouts. Could tell the ocean was near. That Donatien de Vimeur was near. Safety was near.

The idea of living the rest of his life in hiding, never to be anything and left secluded and in secrecy, gravely saddened Hamilton. He knew what he was stepping into when he signed his name upon that military register. When he stepped up as Washington's right hand man, as he fought face to face with Tories and hand to hand red coats, and as he stamped his name, his legacy upon history.

"Is this how they will remember me?" He though to himself.

Mulligan swat rapidly at the air around his face.

"Curse these bloody fucking bugs!" He yelled, swiping his hand down his face to remove any perched creature. "We are stopping right here tonight. I swear I'm not going a step farther like this," Hercules Mulligan said, sitting down against a rock.

Alexander didn't answer, but looked expectantly at Laf.

"We mustn't give up now!" Lafayette replied gallantly. "We are thirty miles a-way. Not a bug to impede freedom, my friend!"

Hamilton sat down, tired, feet swollen. His hair only loosely tied behind his face, his appealing features dirty and worn out, he said, "Is it only that far? It seems only a day ago we left."

"At the least, it is all three of us," replied Mulligan.

"It should have been four."

"It should have been five."

Hamilton looked at the ground. His John. His George. He loved them both- but with John Laurens dead and him being parted from George Washington caused him to truly realized his love. The emptiness from Laurens' absence had left a weighing pain upon him, but the very action of being separated from Washington had burned out his spirt. Even if he were able to start again assuming a different identity, the life of his brilliant mind had be shutdown. Without Washington, though he lied to himself about this very truth, he could work no longer- be no one at all.

Love is what killed the genius in the end.

The men undressed from their muddy over clothes and huddled close to their small fire.

"You smell like ass," Hercules said as he laid his face close to Lafayette's hair.

"You-a just jealous of my life of luxury."

"Besides," Lafayette added as a mutter and with a roll of his shoulder, "I wouldn't need your damn pants with my life."

"Fucking shut up. Only I could create something to make your ass look slightly appealing." Hercules retorted.

"I look sexy always, boys." Hamilton said. "Especially without pants."

The other two men laughed.

Sometimes there were moments when they didn't hear the cannons; hear the screams and taste blood of friends.

The stench of piss and molding earth did linger, though that had become their own personal smell. Flies, sweat, curses, heat. Alexander Hamilton, being the lightest in complexion had suffered burns due to his olive skin refusing to take in any more sunlight and become tanner still.

There he lie, his brown eyes searching the night sky like a child for his mother. The stars were faintly protruding from the jet black overhang; distant and hazy, yet menacing. Creeping into one's very skin like old age unto youth, until ones eyes are creased with wisdom and loss.

The next morning Hamilton and Mulligan were awoken by Lafayette. The sun had just begun to rise and Hamilton's body was numb with exhaustion. His years as a poor orphan paying off though, due to his seeming immunity to fatigue and labor. Hamilton took a slow drink from the canteen Lafayette had filled with water; the bottom murky and no longer seeming to quench.

The three of them began trekking again, Laf assuring them that in 10 hours they'd be at the shore.

Over the course of 7 hours the men had made good progress, though the rocky terrain had caused many slips and tumbles.

As they began through and open stretch Hamilton stopped suddenly, frozen, breath catching. Almost immediately, Lafayette did the same. Mulligan saw them and crouched close to the ground as they were, listening, waiting for something. Hams and Laf, being soldiers, meant their sense of hearing seemed to be permanently heightened, and they had both caught something.

Extra pairs of footsteps.

Some behind. Some to their right.

"Royaliste," Lafayette wispered.

The wind blew softly over the curls of Lafayette's and all three men could taste their pulses.


End file.
